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I met Terry Holmes when working as one of the design team on the refurbishment of the Stafford when it was bought by Shire Hotels for £16 million in the mid-nineties and restored to its position , as London’s Evening Standard described it, as one of the ‘Best of British’. In my mind there are only a score of individuals I have met in our industry who for me epitomise everything an hotelier should be. Terry Holmes was one of these, from his smile, his cigar and that definite confident ‘bon hommie’ with which he greeted everyone to ‘his’ hotel.
Terry was at the Stafford for thirty years off and on, enhancing the reputation of one of London’s greatest hotels, a favourite of ageing ‘Tiller girls’ and Hollywood stars alike. Both hotel and manager shared a character that was defining of what London is. The Stafford’s cellars were used as a bomb shelter during WW2 – one of London’s finest hotel wine cellars serving some of London’s most elevated shelter dwellers, including royalty, causing it to become known wryly as the “better ‘ole” that Londoners looked for as the bombs fell. Terry was from that most bombed out area, the East End, starting in hotels as a bell hop and working his way up ‘through the ranks’ to become one of the world’s greatest hotel managers.
In a day of accountants and ‘suits’ I choose not to write about movements in hotels staffs as so many now try to climb the greasy pole of corporate success, but Terry Holmes stood apart as an individual, a man of character who deeply cared for his hotel. A small anecdote will serve to illustrate this character, and stand as tribute to this colossus of hotel keepers.
I was in St. James on one of those crazy ‘Anarchy in the City’ days in the mid-1990’s when mobs of so-called anarchists ran amok, smashing the windows of ‘symbols of capitalism’. I walked through the yard at the back of the hotel and into the bar in time to be greeted by Terry opening a bottle of champagne. On enquiring what the celebration was for, Terry announced that he was going to wait for the police to arrest him in the style he thought suited his life. “Why the Police?” I asked.
It transpired that hearing noise in the street outside the Stafford, Terry had gone to the top of the steps in time to meet a rush of anarchist yobs trying to storm their way into the hotel. He had knocked the first one up the steps out cold, at which point the rest had retreated calling out for the police (honestly, can you imagine a real anarchist having time for the forces of law and order – what an oxymoron!)
Of course the police never appeared (although in these days of ‘political correctness I think none of us should have been surprised if they had arrested Terry!) and we all enjoyed a glass with one of the greatest of hosts ever to greet an hotel guest.
No doubt he will appear like Banquos ghost from time to time, haunting his successor at ‘his’ hotel. Equally, if he does I am sure he will be welcomed, not feared. I am sure all his friends, colleagues and the many guests who will remember his warmth and joviality will wish him a long and happy retirement.
Patrick Goff
Editor
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